


Not Real

by LearnedFoot



Series: What Is Real? (Mysterio Manipulating Peter Ficlets) [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, Ficlet, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Quentin Beck Doesn't Play Fair, Spider-Man: Far From Home (Movie) Spoilers, Tony is only kind of in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 16:41:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19727617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnedFoot/pseuds/LearnedFoot
Summary: If a certain scene in FFH had gone down a little differently… [FFH spoilers]





	Not Real

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t currently have time to do all of my feelings on _Far From Home_ justice, but I just couldn’t let go of the idea of Mysterio messing with Peter’s head using his romantic feelings for Tony. So, a ficlet take on what could have been…
> 
> Originally written for the prompt "100 words of mindfuck" [here](https://fail-fandomanon.dreamwidth.org/376942.html?thread=2207073134#cmt2207073134).

Peter scrambles backward on the ground, heart pounding as the creature looms over him; Iron Man turned nightmare, zombified and rotting. _It’s not real_ , he reminds himself. _It’s not real, it’s not real_.

He’s almost regained his bearings when the image transforms into something so much worse: Mr. Stark himself, wearing a suit and that half-smile of his, the one that always made Peter’s heart jump. 

“Maybe if you’d been better, you could have saved me,” the image says, mouth twisting into a tight line, sharp and cruel. “Maybe I’d still be here.”

It’s. Not. Real. But the truth of that starts to slip as Mr. Stark— _not_ Mr. Stark—gets closer. It smells like him, exactly like him: the right cologne, the hint of smoke and oil that always clung to his skin after he’d been the lab. His sweat, even. How does it smell like his sweat? 

“You’re not real,” Peter tells the image, but it doesn’t care. It keeps marching forward, then crouches, hovering over him, fingers brushing his cheek. Peter chokes back a cry. Those fingers feel exactly right, strong and callused. Not that Mr. Stark ever touched him like this: intimate, tender. Not outside his dreams, anyway.

“If you’d been good enough, maybe I would have finally seen you,” Mr. Stark says, and his voice is lower than Peter remembers, rough with an emotion he’d never heard there. Lust. The emotion is lust. “I might have seen everything you could have been to me.”

And then the impossible. He leans forward, presses his lips to Peter’s in a kiss that starts soft but quickly morphs into something forceful and wanting. It’s not real. _It’s not real_. But it’s so much closer than dreams.

“You could have this,” a voice that isn’t Mr. Stark’s offers, echoing through the nothing surrounding them. The image’s hand reaches out, aims low, brushes Peter’s inner thigh. He can’t stifle his moan. “Just stop. Stay here. It doesn’t have to end.”

It’s not real. It is really not real; he needs to stop Beck. Now. He needs—

Those lips keep kissing him, warm tongue invading his mouth. Those impossible fingers move up his leg, squeeze, promising more. He’s suddenly rock hard, body thrumming with need; if it isn’t real, it’s better than any reality. He kisses back, fingers weaving into the hair he’s longed to touch for so long. Wanting to believe. Wanting to forget. Wanting to _have_. 

Willing it to be real, even when it can’t be. 

“Good boy,” Mr. Stark whispers against his ear. “You’re doing so well. This is exactly what I want.”

Wait. That’s not—that’s not right. Mr. Stark never wanted _anything_ more than he wanted to protect people. Never. 

With a sob, Peter kisses the thing that’s not Mr. Stark again, deep, passionate, in all the ways he’d dreamed. Trying to steal a lifetime from a single moment. 

“You’re right, I didn’t save you,” he tells the image. He pushes it away, wiping his eyes as he stands. It lunges for him, but he dances out of range. He adds, loud enough that Beck hears, “Maybe I wasn’t good enough then. Thanks for reminding me why I can’t make that mistake again.”

He looks at Mr. Stark one last time, then runs.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, feedback is loved.


End file.
